


Fourth Tale

by elven_prophecy



Series: Tales from the Darkest Dungeons [4]
Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Amputee, Character Death, Cunnilingus, Death, Drinking, Embarrassment, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Scars, Seduction, Sex, Slavery, Slow Burn, Sparring, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, Violence, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-10-10 21:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17433692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elven_prophecy/pseuds/elven_prophecy
Summary: Enjoy!Comments are Love!Comments are life!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are Love!
> 
> Comments are life!

### 1

   Barristan tended to keep to himself (he'd always had) as he smashed his mace down onto a straw dummy.  The wood creaked and groaned but otherwise stood firm beneath his assault. The old Man-at-Arms had spent most of his life in the Hamlet.  He'd been born a stone's throw from the Old Road (the familial home had long succumbed to the elements).

   He'd watched over the years the destruction of the Hamlet, and the old Mansion.  When he'd been young, there had been no pigmen, no cultist, no pelagial horrors. He'd seen the old Earl of Darkest transform from an honest man to whatever he'd been in the end.  

   A shell of a man.  If he could be called that...

   The Earl's only living relative (a great granddaughter he believed) had come following the old man's suicide.  Barristan had known at once who she'd been. She _looked_ like the old man in an uncanny way (they’d both had that garish red hair that could be spotted a mile away, and those cold eyes…).

  Another smash into the dummy had the Man-at-Arms pausing to examine his weapon.  The hilt had felt _off_ on that last hit.  He frowned and sat down on an anvil close by, placing his shield beside him as he did so.  He turned his weapon upside down and peered at it in length when he heard the soft footfalls of another entering the training grounds.

   He didn't bother raising his head until a shadow fell over him.  He glanced up and his blue eye met pitch black ones. His greying mustache twitched and he raised himself to a straight sitting position.

  “Aye, lass?” He arched an eyebrow.

  The newcomer was a woman, but unlike other women he'd seen or met in the Hamlet, this one was completely different.  Her face was covered, only her eyes gleamed. Her skin was dark, like she’d slowly baked in the sun all her life. Her armour/clothes (he wasn't sure which she was wearing as he was not familiar with either) was definitely _different_.  She held a long spear in her right hand, and a rounded shield in her left.  She was very small (The spear almost looked comical beside her).

   “You are the trainer?” She rolled her Rs in a way Barristan had never heard before.  Her accent was definitely lyrical and not local. She’d come to his hamlet from far, very far.

   “Who's askin’?” he barked, irritated that he was interrupted.

   “I am Amani,” she hit her chest with her spear-fisted hand as a form of introduction.

   “I answer to ‘Sir’,” he didn't bother with her name or his.  She was no different from all the rest… they always died, were driven mad, or fled  

   Except him.  

  He returned his attention to his mace as she remained standing in front of him.  Her black eyes had narrowed as she watched him fiddle with a strip of leather.

  “Sir,” she hit her shield with her spear and dropped to a battle stance.

  Barristan arched _both_ eyebrows as he looked at her.   _Really_ looked at her.  She wanted to fight?  He snorted.

   “I'm not about to fight you sight unseen, lass,” he grisled.   

   She didn't respond, instead she made to smash him in the face with her shield.  Thankfully he was holding his mace, and he brought it up just as her shield moved.  He dodged the hit, and jumped to his feet, his mood more than foul now.

  He was quick to grab his own shield and as he hefted it, unleashed a booming warcry that probably deafened her (she was barely a couple of steps away).  His mace was old, but the spikes were sturdy and had never let him down. His shield had seen better days, but it too had proved its mettle.

   His shield raised automatically as she went to hit him with something (he assumed it was dust or poison, didn't get a good look since he was moving on automatic) and before he realized it, He'd used his shield to smash into her.

   She hadn't expected the force in his hit cause she was sent flying backwards, and that was when he noticed that her left hand was not holding her buckler.  In fact, she had no left hand to speak of. Her shield was strapped to her forearm with leather strips.

   He lowered his shield and dropped his mace beside the anvil he'd just vacated. “And that's why you never fight sight unseen lass,” he growled at her, “I could have killed you,” he snapped, “get out of here and get your hand looked over at the medical ward.”   

   She jumped to her feet and grabbed her spear that had dropped from her hand. “I am not wounded,” she spoke lyrically, getting her weapon and resuming her battle stance.  Barristan rolled his eye and returned to his seat on the anvil.

  “The bandage is bloodied,” he pointed out, returning his attention to his weapon.

  “Old blood,” she countered, “Now fight me old man.”

  He chuckled as he tightened the leather around the hilt of his mace. “You best go an introduce yourself to the medical ward,” he explained sourly, “before _I_ am forced to do so for you.”

   He noticed her feet dancing in the soft dirt and knew before she moved that she was going to kick dirt in his face.  It was a matter of raising shield, keeping his eye on her fancy footwork and avoiding a well placed stab. He growled and reached for her leg with his free hand.  He grabbed her ankle and pulled her onto her back before she made another pass at him.

   He'd had enough.

   He heard the air get knocked out of her as she landed squarely on her back.  He was quick to put a booted foot on her chest to hold her down.

  “Listen, _child_ ,” he deliberately stressed the word, “I will tell you when you're ready to play with the _adults_ .  But,” he applied more weight to her chest, “until then, you have to be ready to _listen and do as you are told_.  Come back when you are,” he barked, stepping off her finally, “Your wasting my time otherwise.”

   He turned his back to her as he reached down for his mace.  He didn't even bother with her as he hefted his weapon and left the training area for the barracks.    


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  2

  Amani stayed on the ground, on her back for a long time staring at the sky.  She was angry at both the old warrior and herself. How had the old coot known what she'd been about to do?  She'd kept her feet moving (The warriors from her clan always kept their feet on the move to prevent their enemies from guessing their next move) she'd done exactly as she'd seen, and it had been for naught.

   She ended up on her back, eyes on the sky rather then the enemy.  She’d darkened in embarrassment when he’d put a heavy booted foot on her body.  As though she were a prize he’d won.

   Her blood had boiled, and she had been powerless to do anything.

   When she'd stepped off the stagecoach, she'd made her inquiries with the tavern about where she could train and if she would be able to find a sparring partner.  The old barkeep had told her about the training ground, but it was the Heir that had advised her that the old Man-at-Arms was an excellent teacher, and the one that she needed.

   She hadn't believed her at first.  He'd barely looked at her ( _ he’d still managed to humiliate her though _ ) as he'd sparred with her.  She was in her prime, her pride had more than stung that he'd showed  _ her _ up.  She needed the training  _ badly _ .  She hoped the old man wasn't the only qualified trainer.  She was doomed if he was...

   Amani muttered to herself and eventually got to her feet.  She dusted herself off and picked up her spear. He wouldn't show her up forever, she just had to get  _ better _ .  She  _ had _ to.   She wasn't whole like the rest of the adventurers were (she  _ had _ something to prove).  

   The old man had noticed it right away too.  Despite the fact that he wore an eye patch (she found it ironic that he wasn’t whole either).  He'd seen her bandaged arm, her stump.

   Her left hand (though no longer there, she still felt it sometimes) had healed a long time ago.  Aye, the bandage she used to wrap it was bloody and dirty, but the skin had closed over the wound, the danger of infection had long since passed.  She'd used a red-hot burning dagger to cauterize the wound.

   A deep breath of the stale, fishy (a term another adventurer had used, she did not know what  _ fishy _ smelt like) air did not help improve her mood.  Since she'd arrived she'd had notice the air was  _ extremely _ different here.  Death had a particular scent that once you smelt it, you remembered it for the rest of your life.  And the Hamlet, was drenched in it.

   The rotten smell of the sea (she decided she did not like the scent of the water), the decay of the woods, and the filth of the pigmen combined into a perfume that infested every nook and cranny of this forsaken place.  

   And there was no reprieve to be had.

   She missed the sands of her home far, far to the East.  The spices and desert flowers enlivened everything. Even the sandstorms had looked alive with their dust devils and twirling sands (they had always reminded her of dancers).  That she'd been forced to flee her home bothered her to no end, but she could  _ never _ go back.  

   Amani was property in the East.

  And with her missing left hand, she wasn't even  _ valuable _ property any more.  She could no longer dance like she'd had before.  She could not hold the veils and the silks like she used to.  She was forgetting to mention the  _ real _ reason she could never go back...

   She'd killed the last owner she'd had after he'd sold her to a dangerous man.  A depraved madman honestly.

   She was not considered human in the East.  Her crime carried the death penalty to be exacted immediately upon capture (of course she could be tortured and raped prior to execution if her jailers so pleased, so long as her head was returned to the family of her victim).  She would get no mercy, no quarter, no chance to explain. And it was irrevocable. 

   She pressed her lips together resolutely and made her way towards the barracks.  The old man was not much different from the men she'd encountered before. He was mean and nasty, but she'd get him in the end.  She'd force him to acknowledge  _ her _ .  It would just take time, and Amani  _ had _ time.

   Once inside the barracks, Amani made her way to a bed in a shadowed corner.  It was shocking to her that men and women slept in the same room (it was a large room though and the beds were all singles) but not shocking enough that she’d rather sleep outside.  Her nightmares rarely came when she was surrounded by four walls, thus she'd sleep with a werewolf if it meant she slept inside.

   “Psst,” a distinctly muffled female voice piped up close to her (in the bed next to hers to be exact), “Where are you from?”

   Amani turned her head and came face to face with a long beak.  She blinked twice.

   “The East.”

   “I thought so,” the beak said and then a gloved hand appeared in front, “I am Paracelsus.”

   “And I, Amani.”

   “We're going on a scouting expedition tomorrow morn and we could definitely use a big spear and shield with us.  Care to join?” she asked and then without pausing for breath continued, “You can keep your loot, and spoils you find, and best part, all you can eat fish!” the doctor giggled.

   “I've never had fish,” Amani answered truthfully, and if it truly smelled like it did outside she doubted she'd like it.  The Doctor stopped laughing and seem to stare at her through her goggles.

  “So you'll come then?” She cleared her throat.  The old man flashed in her mind, the nasty expression on his face.  Amani nodded.

   “Yes.” She’d throw a bag of treasure at his head (she smiled darkly behind her veil).  Proof she wasn’t completely incompetent.


	3. Chapter 3

###  3

   Barristan didn’t react when the group he’d joined with for an outing into the Cove also included the exotic newcomer he’d flattened.

  She, however, turned a shade darker and he found her jet black eyes narrowing as she glowered at him.  He ignored her.

   “Barristan, Amani, Malek and Paracelsus,” the Plague Doctor chirped pointing to everyone as she said their names and then she jumped excitedly, “We’re scouting!” She actually raised a fist in the air and posed.

   “Stay behind me,” Barristan had harrumphed and started making his way towards the entrance of the Cove without even glancing back.  

   “You heard the man!” Paracelsus exclaimed pumped up, “To the Cove!”

   To the Man-at-Arms, the Cove was nothing but a cesspool of corrupted memories and he gained so much satisfaction from killing the fishfolk that he barely got any stress at all.  He'd kissed his wife (may the Light watch over her spirit) over yonder, and he'd buried her not far from the Cove (she'd loved the sea).

   He raised his shield just as a fishfolk (a Grouper for those interested) went to jab him.  He grumbled to himself when he noticed a long spear slide just below his elbow, Amani had ducked behind him and was using a fighting style that worked in tandem with his.  

   Swords and daggers were pretty useless against the hardened scales as the blades just slid off.  The sound of breaking bone that accompanied his strikes however, definitely proved that these scaled monstrosities were best dealt with bludgeoning.  

   Another fell to Amani’s spear.  Piercing as well apparently ( grudgingly admitted).

   He raised his shield as a smoking vial sailed over his head and landed at the feet of a particularly nasty Pelagic Grouper.  Barristan had to look away as the thing shrieked and…  _ melted _ (mild shuddering).

   Paracelsus (the owner of said poisonous vials) had shown a strange glee-like excitement over her uniquely blended concoctions and their many affects.  Barristan better understood now the difference between a  _ Doctor _ and a  _ Plague Doctor _ , one was insane.

    Malek, and it bothered Barristan to no end that he had to admit this, was a great boon to their party.  The turban-wearing Occultist had dealings with the Eldritch that made him that much more deadly. It was as though his dagger was  _ meant _ for slicing the demons.  It was just when he called on those same-said demons for aid that unnerved Barristan.

    The floating, candle-adorned skull that the shorter man carried around gave the Man-at-Arms the creeps (for a lack of a better term).  He’d noticed the blackened eye sockets glowing red at times, and sometimes, he’d swear the skull was looking at him.

   The Sea Maggot’s shell exploded beneath his mace (the last of their scaled foes) with a satisfying crunch that Barristan would never tire of hearing.  He straightened as he gave his weapon one hard slash towards the ground to clean it of stinky, sticky slime.

   Amani stepped up beside him as he stared ahead, down the darkened corridors.  

   “You fight well,” she spoke casually.  He took a deep breath and didn’t glance at her.  He kept his eye ahead, watching for a flash of scales in the fading torchlight.

    “You held the line,” he stated, grudgingly proud.  

   He  _ had _ to admit the gel had made good use of his big, bulky body (he was barrel chested, stocky and wide, but of average height).  She’d jabbed her spear, hitting from low while he’d struck up high. They’d kept their more frail-looking party members sheltered, and guarded behind them that the latters had been able to pepper their enemies with concoctions and…  _ tentacles _ ...  

   And then they’d stumbled on a monster Barristan had hoped hadn’t been real.  

   A Siren.

   All hell broke loose then.  They came crawling from everywhere, answering the call of her cursed conch.  Pelagic Guardians, Shamans and Groupers… oh my.

   And then the creature had fixated on Barristan.  The Man-at-Arms was deafened first, and then blinded.  He didn’t hesitate to use his shield like an extension of his arm, smashing into anything in front.  He turned himself into a veritable wall as he dug his armoured-booted heels into the sandy mud. 

   “Barry….” a voice on the wind, a whisper in his ear.  The voice a  _ distant _ memory.  The others faded in the background as he focused.

   He gave his head a shake when the voice came again. “Barry…”

   There was no mistaken it that time.  He knew that voice. It had haunted him for years, long after she’d been dead and gone.

   His wife.  

    Lizzie.

   “Lizzie…?” he actually lowered his shield, his eyes peering ahead.  A wild, _impossible hope_ blooming in his chest.

   And there she was.  He blinked and then gasped.  

   She was naked!  He hardened almost instantly, the years melting off him.

   But  _ exactly _ as he remembered her…

   “Lizzie!” he gasped taking a step forward.  The fishfolk parted for him and he was able to make it to her side.

************

   Amani decided early on that she did not like fish.  In fact, she hated them. They stunk, and they were disgusting.  They were hard to hurt, but thankfully not immune to poisons.

   Barristan had stood firm, like a tower.  She liked that he never hesitated in his blows, never faltered.  He rallied their allies in a way that boosted morale (she'd really liked that). 

   She wouldn’t admit it to him, but she’d almost gushed when he’d told her she’d held the line.  It was obvious the man didn’t give out praise often (she guessed it was probably easier to pull teeth out), and so she’d preened like a plumed desert bird inwardly.

   And then they’d encountered the Siren… 

   And the mother of all sandstorms erupted.  Barristan, was somehow dragged to the monster’s side.  Whispering ‘Lizzie’ like a prayer… (who was Lizzie?)

   “Watch out for his shield!” Amani screamed as the Man-at-Arms released a booming warcry at  _ them _ that sent a shiver down her spine.  

   “No!” he bellowed as Paracelsus broke a bottle at the Siren’s feet that definitely blighted the monster, “Not my Lizzie!” His voice was frantic.

    “It’s not Lizzie!” Amani found herself calling to him.  His blue eye was focused directly at her and a _different_ sort of shiver danced down her spine.

    “I’ll stun him!” the Doctor piped up, tossing a different concoction at him.

    “We are not prepared for this battle!” the Occultist called over the sound of the conch.

   “We’re not leaving him behind!” Amani turned her head to glare the Occultist down before returning her attention to the Man-at-Arms.  She’d drag him out unconscious if she had too.

   “Running out of options and poisons !” The Doctor tossed another vial that created green fumes.  This time Barristan swayed on his feet and started vomiting uncontrollably, and then his blue eye seem to focus and he found himself on his knees in front of Amani.

   The Shieldbreaker did not hesitate and surged forward with her spear.  She stepped in front of the Man-at-Arms. She’d poisoned the tip and aimed for the monster’s chest.  

   She missed.  

   Another blast of the conch had her scrambling back, her heart rate increased dramatically.  Barristan didn’t move until Amani bumped into him as she was backing away. He jumped to his feet, turned and grabbed the Shieldbreaker by her right arm.

   He tossed her towards the Doctor and Occultist.

  “Run!” he bellowed, pointing to the door.

   Paracelsus shrieked which in turn caused Barristan to move to the side (he’d assumed something was behind him…).  The hooked spear missed him,  _ barely _ .

   He turned and glared at the pelagic nightmares as he slammed the door closed.

   “Run!” he repeated, the urgency still running high.  

   No one argued and they probably made it back to the hamlet in record time.  Amani had lost her spear in the Coves but learned a valuable lesson…

   Don’t trust Plague Doctors you’ve just met.

    And... who was Lizzie?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  4

   She found him in the training ground the next day, smashing his mace into a straw dummy over and over again.  She could see his skin glistening from where she stood (she was a good twenty feet away). 

   “Aye, lass?” He didn't even stop pounding the dummy.

   “I did what you said, Sir,” Amani called out, “Introduced myself to the nuns at the Ward and the Church.”

   He stopped and straightened. “Lass,” he sighed heavily, but she took a couple steps in his direction before he could continue, she cut him off.

   “Wait!” she licked her lips from behind her veil, and then she in turn took a deep breath, “Before you turn me away,” her eyes searched his back but he raised a hand to stop her.

   “Just stop,” he muttered, his shoulders sagging. 

   “I want you to train me!” she spoke hurriedly, speaking over him, “I am but capture away from death.  I want to be able to fight on my own!”

   “Another…”

   “The Heir said you were the best,” she raised her voice as she spoke firmly, “I need the best.”

   The was a long silenced followed by a brief laugh. “I am not the best, lass, merely the  _ last _ .”

    “I can pay,” Amani persisted.    He finally turned to look at her.  His blue eye was dulled, his cheeks were pink, and she felt sucker punched. “You’re drunk.”

   “Not drunk enough,” he muttered surly, raising a gloved hand to rub down his face.  His shoulders sagged even more as he dropped on his anvil.

   She stared at him through slitted eyes.  

  “Listen, lass,” he shook his head.

  “Who is Lizzie?” she asked, cutting him off.  This Lizzie must have something to do with his drinking.

  That got his attention.  That blue eye sharpened and burrowed into her skull as he stared at her from his sitting position.  The silence dragged on for a long minute before his shoulders sagged in defeat.

   “My wife,” he said simply, and he picked up his mace gently.  He was staring intently at it, picking at imaginary debris on the spikes.  Amani showed no reaction as the old man swallowed, but kept his mouth shut.

   When it became obvious he was not going to continue, Amani prodded, “What happened to her?”  _ Exactly _ like pulling teeth.

   He slammed his weapon down on the ground and jumped to his feet.  The anger in his face didn’t frighten her, merely intrigued her.

   “She died,” he snarled accusatory, blue clashing with black.  

   “Your fault?” Amani questioned, arching an eyebrow.  She’d guessed death.

   He glared at her for a moment longer before he sat back down on his anvil. “Why do you want to know?” he grumbled, grabbing his mace again.

   “Curious,” she answered truthfully. 

   “She and our son died in childbirth,” he finally said after an eternity.  His voice was neutral, and calm, a complete contrast to mere moments ago, “It happened over twenty years ago,” he added quietly, rubbing his hand over his face again.

   That surprised her, and then a spike of uncharacteristic envy (or jealousy… she wasn’t sure which) went through her mind.  Twenty years... the woman had been dead twenty years! And  _ still _ he pined for her.  For Lizzie. 

   Amani had never met  _ anyone _ that dedicated.  She had never had anyone love her… Well… she’d always assumed her mother had at one point before Amani had been taken from her as a toddler, but she had no recollection of such (she’d daydreamed about it though).  Amani had always been a slave, and slaves were not permitted relationships (not even parental ones…). 

   “Happy?” he snarled, his mood obviously foul.

   Amani stared at him before she right hooked him in the face.  She’d surprised both him and herself. Her knuckles hurt and he fell off his anvil.

   “Now what was that for?!” he snapped, struggling to his feet.

   “Being a fool,” she retorted angrily (at him and herself, but he didn’t need to know that).

   He rubbed his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “And you want this old fool to train you.”

   “Yes.” She rubbed her pained fingers along the bandages of her stump.

   He stared at her for a while longer before he finally took a deep, steadying breath. “All right, lass,” he muttered, grabbing his mace from the ground and tying it to his belt, “Come here then,” he grabbed her right hand unexpectedly and massaged her fingers, “First off,” his thumb rubbed soothingly over her knuckles, “You punch like a girl.”

   “I am a girl,” she deadpanned, not understanding what he was insinuating, but liking how his thumbs eased the pain.

    His mustache twitched and his blue eye bore into her. “Loosen your hand,” he explained, “Your fist was clenched too tight.”

   She frowned at him and he, in turn, made a fist with his right hand, “I don't understand…”

  “Look,” he showed her his fist, “my fingers are loose, and your thumb wasn’t placed correctly.” He wiggled his thumb, “You should always turn your fist downward as you strike.”

   She followed his instructions and he nodded. “Like that?”

   “Aye, lass,” he stepped back and rubbed at his jaw with consideration, “Next hit shouldn’t hurt as much.”

   She raised her head and squared her shoulders. “Thank you, Sir.”

   He grunted and turned his back on her.  She was obviously dismissed but decided to stay anyway.  He didn’t say anything else to her for the rest of the day, and when they left for the barracks later in the evening, he nodded in her direction in acknowledgement.

   She nodded back, secretly pleased with herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

###  5

   He dreamt of Lizzie that night.  A dream that didn’t belong but had reminded him that despite his age (he was forty-five (or was it six?  Or four?) this winter), he was very much still a man.  He shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

   They’d been married ten years (and fruitless the entire ten years) before she'd gotten with child, and his body remembered that last year… she’d been insatiable for him, and he’d...

   The bed creaked as he sat up and put his booted feet to the floor.  He rubbed his face wearily with both hands. 

   Light he _missed_ her...   _So_ _much_ … His heart broke.

   She’d been  _ all _ he had  _ ever _ wanted his entire life (he’d fallen in love with her when he’d been but a lad of ten years of age).  He’d never set foot back in the family home after she’d died there, he’d moved to the barracks the very same night.  He’d never lain with another either after she’d passed (He wasn't a sentimental fool, the opportunity had never presented itself).

   Lizzie.  His Lizzie.

   The Siren had used her against him, and he’d been powerless to stop her.  

   He clenched his eyes closed tightly as he deliberately recalled the damnable hope that had reared its ugly head (it was still there, lingering).  He’d never been the brightest, but Lizzie had breathed her last two decades ago. Why had  _ he _ believed it could have been  _ her _ ?  

   And Amani… he blinked.  Was that the first time he actually thought of her name?  He blinked again and gave his head a shake.  _ It was _ .

   He got to his feet quietly and left the barracks (he grabbed his mace and shield, never left without either).  He didn’t bother with a torch. He knew where he was going, he could walk it blind.

   He needed to beat a dummy into tinder (maybe two, he  _ was _ in a mood).  He was on a sword’s edge and this was the only way he could think to assuage his stress, and that damnable erection he’d sported all night.

   That the Siren had known that only Lizzie had  _ ever _ called him ‘Barry’ bothered him, and the more he thought about it the angrier he got.  How had the demon  _ known _ ?  

   The night was pitch black but Barristan moved determinedly through the empty streets until he reached the training ground.  He was surprised to find the place lit up with multiple torches. Apparently he wasn’t alone in thinking the dummies needed a good pounding tonight.

   His eye found the lone figure near a couple of the targets and he made his way towards them slowly.  He was surprised to note that it  _ was _ Amani that was working up a sweat, her dark skin glistened with it.

   He paused for a moment before making his way towards his anvil and putting his shield down beside it.  His blue eye kept glancing back towards Amani. She was using her rounded shield as a weapon, but nothing else.

    “Lass,” he called to her when she stopped to take a breather.  She must not have seen him for she jumped, startled. 

    “Sir,” she nodded towards him, her hand rubbing at her chest fretfully.

    “Come here,” Barristan motioned to a wooden barrel close.  He nodded for her to sit which she did.

   “Sir?” she questioned.

   “How did it happen?” his eye flicked to her stump.

   “I did it,” she answered slowly, her accent heavier.  He arched an eyebrow at that.

   “Why?” 

    “It was that or die.” She was matter of fact.

    He scratched at his goatee and harrumphed.  She kept her night black eyes on him and he stared right back.

   “I was a slave,” she explained as the silence stretched, his blue eye focused on her stump.

   “Cut your hand from the shackles then?” he guessed casually.

   “No,” she sighed heavily, “the caravan I was on fell off the mountain,” she untied the leather strips from her left arm and cautiously removed her shield, “It was my fault and I got pinned beneath a wagon wheel.  I would have freed myself eventually if I had been given the time,” she rubbed her stump absentmindedly, “A snake bit me.”

   Understandment dawned on him and he nodded. “Brave, lass.”

   “Panic,” she corrected calmly.  He chuckled faintly and nodded again.

   “The will to live,” he amended, his mustache twitching.

  “I assure you it was panic.”

  He chuckled again at her serious tone and raised a hand in defeat, “Let’s agree to disagree then, lass.”

   “What does that mean?” she asked suddenly.  He blinked, confused. “Lass.”

   He blinked again and then smiled. “It means ‘girl’.”

   “I am not a child,” she straightened on the barrel.

   “I know, lass,” he said quietly, looking away from her.

   Her eyes narrowed on him. “My name is Amani,” she supplied.  He chuckled and untied his mace from his belt to place it next to his shield.

   His eye alighted on her shield. “Where’s your weapon?” and just like that he changed the subject.

  “Lost in the Cove,” she muttered, frustrated.

  “You seen the Blacksmith?” he asked.

   She peered at him. “Where is he?”

   He peered back, and then sighed heavily, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

   “Why are you out here?” she asked.

   He snorted, “I could be askin’ you the same thing.”

   “Nightmares,” she answered honestly, her hand rubbing her stump again.  Barristan did not miss her shiver.

   He frowned, and then cleared his throat. “Me too,” he muttered awkwardly, rewarding her honesty with his own.

   Her eyes narrowed over her mask as she stared at him.  He actually shifted uncomfortably and blushed but the torches weren’t bright enough for her to notice.

   “What haunts you?” she asked curiously.

   “My wife,” he groused. 

   She blinked and he  _ did _ notice her eyes going down his body in a way that caught him  _ completely _ off guard.  He felt his body respond unexpectedly.  His blush deepened and he cleared his throat.

   “I’ve been alone a long time,” he said as though that explained it all (he was losing track of the conversation).

   “Why not use the brothel?” she spoke the words as though they weren’t discussing sex (which he hadn’t thought they were).

    His face flamed and he cleared his throat again. “Lass,” he coughed in a fist, “we… you… we shouldn’t be talking about this…”

    She arched an eyebrow at his prudeness and then frowned, “Why not?” 

    “Your a…” he trailed off and then cleared his throat  _ again _ , “And I’m a…” his brows lowered darkly, “it just isn’t done.”

“Why?” she questioned.

    “Cause,” he snapped, “it’s not right.”

    “I can plunge my spear into monsters, decapitate cultists, and peer into the mouth of madness,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “but discussing the brothel is too much?” she asked mildly irritated, her lyrical accent had thickened even more with her ire.   

   He cursed under his breath and glared at her. “All right, all right,” he grisled, and without looking at her continued, “It just doesn’t feel right.”

   “And why not?” she asked casually.  He blushed even more and shifted on the anvil.

   “It’s been too long,” he growled, avoiding her completely.

   “I’ve never been with a man willingly,” Amani spoke calmly, speaking of her own experiences thinking it would ease him.  This time his eyes flew to her face in surprised.

   “It isn’t… I mean… I…” He was struggling with the words and he finally shook his head and gave up, “Lass…”

  Her pitch black eyes bore into him. “You embarrass easily.” This was not said with mockery, but plainly spoken.

   His face darkened even more in the torch light and he got to his feet quickly.  He didn’t even look at her as he cleared his throat and waved her off. 

   “I think I need to go back to bed,” he muttered, and without even looking back or taking his shield and mace, he left the training grounds.  Still moody, still restless…

   Still hard.  


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

### 6

    Amani watched him go in silence and frowned darkly, feeling that spike of jealousy again (she knew what it was this time).  Even at night, Lizzie haunted him. Was there no chance for Amani then?

    She was extremely unfamiliar  with the ways and customs of free men and women.  She had been sure at one point that he was interested in her but now…?  Now she was unsure and confused.

   He’d just left her.  Her eyes dropped to his armaments.  He’d been in such a hurry that he’d left everything behind.  Amani sighed heavily and got to her feet, she picked up her shield and leaned it against his.

   Maybe a more direct approach next time.  He’d been easily embarrassed by almost everything they’d discussed.  A direct approach would leave no questions about her intentions. Would Lizzie still have a hold on him once Amani took him?

***********

    He was _doomed_.

    Barristan snarled as he smashed his mace into another dummy.  He’d barely slept, and what little shuteye he got, Amani had invaded.  He’d been mortified at first when he’d awaken and then, as he recalled the vividness of the dream, he’d gotten so hard it had _hurt_.

    It _still_ hurt.

    Even now, as he raised his mace over and over again, he could feel her against his skin.  His body was soaked from the effort (and his thoughts). She’d been hot to the touch, her core warm like the sands she called home.  She was small compared to his bulk, and in his dream she’d had fit nicely beneath him. Very _nicely_.

    She’d spoken into his ear, with that heavy accent and…

    He roared as the dummy exploded beneath his mace.  He cursed inwardly and lowered his weapon. He was glaring at the broken dummy (this was the third one), his fist tightening on the hilt, when he heard titter he had not expected or wanted to hear ever again.

    “Barristan!” Paracelsus (the Plague Doctor from before) squeaked excitedly as she came _running_ towards him.

    He gritted his teeth and waited until she was almost beside him before acknowledging her with a nod of his head.

   “I wish to go and kill that Siren!” she spoke hurriedly, practically panting, “and I’d like you to come!”

   “No.” He didn’t hesitate.  He was not going back there.  

   She stopped moving completely and peered at him through her goggles. “Why not?” she actually sounded confused and surprised.

  “I am not going back there,” he said simply.  He was not going to be a liability and he didn’t want to hear _her_ voice again.

  “I could have sworn you would have wanted revenge,” she spoke thoughtfully as though he wasn’t there almost, “I hadn’t calculated the odds of your refusal because of it.”

   “Calculate it now then,” he muttered grimly, “cause I ain’t going.”

   Her shoulders visibly slumped and Barristan snorted when she slowly turned on her heels and kicked a pebble. “I needed you,” she actually sounded as though she were pouting.

   “Un-need me.”

   She squared her shoulders and straightened as she walked out of the training ring with dignity.  She didn’t glance back in his direction (he knew cause he glared at her back until she was out of sight).

   He returned to glaring at the broken target when William (a lawman) came to stand beside him with his mutt.

   “I’d like to thank ye on behalf of the law for accosting the criminal,” the Houndmaster smiled openly as he clapped Barristan on the shoulder, “this dummy had been evading capture for weeks.”

   “Is there a penalty for assaulting lawmen?” the Man-at-Arms asked, his voice neutral as his mustache twitched.  He didn’t even look at the Houndmaster. He was in no mood for merrymaking.

   William looked thoughtful and was scratching at his red beard, giving the inquiry serious consideration. “Stockades for a week,” he nodded in satisfaction.

   Barristan snorted and dropped both his shield and weapon on the ground beside his anvil.  He sat down and glared at the grinning William.

    “You know,” William cleared his throat, “the brothel is that way.”

    “If you don't shut yer trap, assault will be the least of your worries,” he snapped and then felt his ire bubble when William chuckled.

    He was one snide remark away from eating a shield or taking a fist to the face (shield would be more satisfying and stress relieving).

  William was smart enough to walk away though (in blessed silence), leaving Barristan to simmer by himself, and simmer he did.  His mood was beyond foul, to the point that others probably preferred the company of the Eldritch (they sure avoided him like he was one).

   Sundown was fast approaching when Barristan finally decided he’d had enough of his own miserable company.  He growled to himself as he gathered his gear and was about to make his way towards the barracks when Amani stepped directly into his path (her shield was not with her).

   He straightened, he wasn’t in the mood for this. “Lass.”

   Her midnight eyes narrowed on him and she reached up to remove her veil, uncovering her face.  He frowned as she then removed her helmet, uncovering her black tresses. What…?

   “Lass?” he repeated, a question now as she dropped her helmet to the ground, unheeded.  

   “So there is no mistake,” she spoke deliberately, “I wish to lay with you.”

    _Silence reigned supreme_.

   He was sure he heard crickets chirping.  He’d misheard. There was no way… she… he...

   He was frozen in place and watched in morbid fascination as she slowly approached him, her steps deliberate.  His eyes dropped to her hips that she swayed mesmerizingly in his direction and he found the air knocked out of him.

   “Lass…” he trailed off.

   “Amani,” she corrected, a small smile on her lush mouth.  His blue eye fixated on her tongue as it came out to lick at her lips.

  “Amani,” his voice was hoarse and she smiled shyly in his direction, “we… I… you…”

   “Shhh,” she reached up and placed a finger to his bushy lips. “Follow me,” she walked past him, her hands gliding across his arm gently.  

   He fully turned on his heels and stared at her retreating back for a full moment before he took a deep breath and followed after her like… he didn’t bother finishing the thought.

   He kept his eye on Amani as she led them towards the brothel.  He tried to keep calm, but his body knew something was going to happen and he found his clothing and armours tightening almost unbearingly around him.

   They were silent in the tavern, and even more so as Amani moved to the stairs leading to the second floor.  He said nothing until she stopped in front of a door, her back to him.

   “Amani,” he whispered his voice a tad harsh.  

   She opened the door and glanced over her shoulder to look at him teasingly.  She smiled and her entire face transformed with it, he took a step deeper into the room almost against his will.

   “Come,” she crook her finger at him, enticing him further into the room.  

   He dropped his weapon and shield on the ground unceremoniously.

   “Yer going to be the death of me,” he groused, closing the door, his blue gaze turning predatory.

 _Doomed_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

### 7

   Amani swayed her hips seductively, very much dancing to music only she could hear, her tone belly wobbling.  She raised both her arms over her head and her hips were shaking mesmerizingly. Barristan had never seen a woman move like that before, and he was transfixed.

   He stood silent, watching with unblinking intensity until she started slowing, twirling on the tips of her toes, her dark tresses raising from her shoulders.  He used his teeth to pull his gloves off, they dropped beside his armenents. He didn’t even hesitate as he untied the buckles and the straps of his breastplate.  He kept his blue eye fixated on her as he’d undressed. Not once looking down to see what he was doing.

   The flames from the candles flickered, causing the shadows of the room to dance with hers.  She finally came to a stop and her dark eyes looked him up and down, the same way she'd looked at him before that had rooted him.  He was standing in his drawers, his weapons and armours neatly piled on the ground.  His heart was pounding like a war drum in his chest.

   He straightened and folded his arms across his barrel chest, in a very obvious defensive stance.  He wasn’t use to being looked at the way she was looking at him and he found himself blushing (grateful that the low light hid his embarrassment).  He was too old to be acting like this. 

   She took the two steps needed to be within a foot of him.  She turned her back to him, her right hand and left arm coming up to hold her hair up, exposing her back and neck to him.  His blue eye focused on the ties of her top, it was obvious what she wanted him to do. His mouth went dry but he reached forward and undid the ties of her clothes.  His hands barely shook.

   She twirled away from him, the ends of her top still between Barristan’s fingers.  Her breasts were small and scarred, and he wanted to bury his face in between them.  Her nipples were dark, darker than her skin and he wanted to taste them. Taste her. Would she taste like she’d had in his dream…?

   She was in front of him again, this time she’d wrapped her arms about his neck.  Amani had pressed her body flush against his (her breast had flattened against his hairy chest), her hips shaking as she continued to dance into him, her pace slowing when his big arms raised to wrap around her.  She did fit nicely against his body, he noted almost detached, and she felt _good_.

   He rumbled as he looked into her eyes intently, trying to read her through the shadows dancing on her face.  He flirted with the idea of asking her why, why she wanted to lay with a washed up, old Man-at-Arms like him.  Flirted, but did not voice. He’d take whatever she was offering, maybe his old bones could give a damn again.  His dick sure did.

   _Maybe_

   She let him go so that she could remove the last of her clothes.  He stopped her and moved so that he sat on the edge of the bed with her standing in between his legs.  He wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her close.

   He took a deep, calming breath. "It's been a very long time for me, lass."

   Amani shrugged. "It's been a long time for me too."

    He cleared his throat as he remembered her words about having never been with a man willingly. "I guess yer right."

   There was a heavy silence that was broken by their breathing.  Barristan swallowed and pulled on the strings holding her pants up.  She was graceful as she stepped out of them and stood in front of him in all her naked glory.  He looked his fill.

   She was beautiful.  Her dark body lithe and compact.  She was muscular and scarred, and perfect.  He ran a hand down her flank, liking how hot her skin was to the touch.  With where he was, he could smell her arousal for him. He shifted as his erection started to pain him.

   "I've dreamt of you," he admitted, his voice gruff, his eye focused on her navel, slowly traveling down to the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, before going back up her body to her face.  She smiled at him, and it transformed her visage completely. He felt like he'd been sucker punched, the air knocked out of him completely.

   "Tell me?” she asked, her hand was touching at his shoulder.

   “I’d rather show you,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her belly button.  She half-gasped half-giggled, the sound more surprised as though she hadn’t known she was ticklish there.  He kissed around her navel, licking at the little bumps that appeared across her skin as she shivered.

   “I've dreamt of you too," she confessed as well, her accent thicker than usual, her voice breathier.

   He rumbled in satisfaction and pulled her closer to his stocky body.  He buried his face in her belly and she giggled suddenly as his mustache tickled her stomach.  His cock twinged, her laughter, he found, had a powerful effect on it.

    Barristan grabbed her and pulled her down on the bed with him so that they lay side by side on the big bed, she was naked while he was still wearing his drawers.  He was holding her tightly to his side, staring at the ceiling.

   “Might need a minute,” he groused, not wanting to admit that he wasn’t going to last more than ten seconds if they didn’t stop.  It had been too long for him… too long since he’d even pleasured himself. He was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t reign himself in.  

   She snuggled into his side, content to just be near him, laying there. “I’m happy with this too,” she said in the darkness.

   He snorted. “I’m not.”

   Amani laughed softly, and snuggled into his side more. “I am pleased to hear this.”    

   He actually chuckled and turned towards her so that they were face to face.  He was staring at her intently and then his gaze dropped to her lips. She must have read his expression for she moved forward and pressed her mouth to his.

   Barristan tensed uncontrollably, and his dick started weeping in his shorts.  He wasn’t going to last no matter he did. He knew this with certainty now. There was only one thing left for him to do, and that was make sure that she, at the very least, orgasmed.  

   “I’m not going to be much use to you, Lass,” he murmured when she pulled her mouth away from his.  She frowned at him, while he smiled faintly. “Let this old man show you something,” he sat up in the bed, and arranged the pillows around her so that she was semi-reclining on the pillows.

   “Sir…?” He paused at that.  His blue eye focusing on her face intently.  He’d liked that she’d called him that. He moved so that he was now in between her legs on his stomach.  His smile widened as she spread her legs more to accommodate him.

   He nether lips had parted with her movements and he’d lowered his mouth without preamble to lick at the dew that covered her.  An ambush always gave the best chances of winning. He’d tossed one of her legs over his shoulder and he pushed on the other with his one hand, forcing her legs to stay spread.  Her breath hissed out from between her teeth as he tongued her clitoris hungrily and she threw her head back onto the pillows. 

   He moaned against her as her right hand made an attempt to grab at his short hair and when that failed, pushed on head as her hips moved against him, grinding into his face.  He did not pull away, rather his hand holding her leg moved up. His thick finger touching at her entrance tentatively.

   Amani jumped and arched, a great shudder wracking her body as he deliberately pushed his thick finger inside her clenching pussy.  She keened, her body glistening and writhing as if she were dancing still, her left arm was thrown over her head, while she still clutched his head.

   He suckled her pearl, grazing his teeth and nipping at the sensitive bud all the while pumping his finger into her steadily.  He’d been right to take this route, his shorts were soaked from his ejaculation and all it had taken was her trying to fuck his mouth, grabbing at his hair uselessly.  He’d exploded as though he’d never tasted a woman before.

  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Comments are love!
> 
> Comments are life!

### 8

  Barristan had stared at the ceiling most of the night, was still staring despite dawn fast approaching.  Amani had been snuggled into his side (she was still there), her arm across his belly, her leg over his own knee.  He’d removed his drawers and had tossed them to the ground long after they’d been done. This was the first time since Lizzie that he’d slept in the nude and with another.  

   He had to admit it… he’d missed it.  He’d missed the contact, the comfort, the warmth, the companionship.  There was something to be said about sleeping with a woman. He glanced down at her dark hair and licked his suddenly dry lips.  He liked how she felt against him, liked how she snuggled into him, her body pinning his down. He could feel his shaft stirring, slowly coming to life.

   The monster in his throat did his damnedest to escape, but Barristan swallowed him down and took a deep breath.  He wanted to make love to Amani, before the reality they lived in returned with a vengeance. Death was a constant companion in the Hamlet, something he knew better than most.  He would probably not get this chance again.

  He was very cautious as he turned towards her on the bed.  He raised his leg so that his thigh was between her legs, almost flush to her vagina.  Her arm had slid down his side to his waist, while he put his one arm beneath her head to bring her even closer to him.  His free hand was against her side, his fingers splayed across her ribs, his thumb just barely touching the underside of her breast.

   The weak rays of the sun filtered through the window, casting a dull orange glow across the bed.  Barristan was able to see her clearly now, and his face softened as he took in her sleeping features.  He wondered what her reaction would be to be awakened by an orgasm.

   His thumb rubbed back and forth along her skin, just barely touching her breast.  His cock stood to attention, touching her abdomen now. He figured he had a better chance of lasting this time around since he’d broken the dam the night before.  

   Barristan’s hand started roaming, down her side, over her hip, down her thigh where he paused and slowly moved back up.  He reached behind her to run his hand over her ass, enjoying the feel of her relaxed muscles. His finger ran along the crack of her behind gently, just touching.  He felt her muscles tensing, and she jerked awake, her eyes popping open in surprise.

   He frowned as her wild, wide eyes met his.  There was a moment where he could have sworn she did not recognize him before she relaxed completely, her eyes returning to normal and staring at him languidly.  The only indication that something had indeed troubled her was the pounding of her heart (which he could feel).

   He moved his hand away from her ass and onto her hip. “It’s all right, lass,” he murmured thickly.

   She purred and stretched, her body arching into his and he growled beneath his breath.  

    "Good morning," she yawned.

   "Good morning, lass," he whispered and then he lowered his head and kissed her.

   She moaned against him, her hips grinding into him.  He pulled back to look down at her in the weak light. "Still want this old man?"

   "Yes," she breathed it, her black eyes searching his.

   His hand moved from her hip to her toned abdomen before sliding down their bodies.  She lifted her one leg, giving him better access to her core. Barristan didn't hesitate and deliberately began massaging her plump nether lips, sliding his index in between her wet folds to touch at her pleasure nub.

    She moaned against him and he brushed his mouth against hers. "I can't promise anything," he murmured, rolling over her and settling his bulk between her legs.

   "I don't care," she smiled at him and spread her legs wider to accomodate him.  He reached down and rubbed the head of his dick against her slit, encouraging her to make more dew.

    He groaned and pushed his hips forward.  He had to clench his eye closed and grit his teeth.  She was burning hot, like his dream ( _exactly_ like his dream), and he broke out in sweat as he finally hilted himself in her heat.

    He didn't know if he would last, and frankly he didn't care.  He couldn't help the grunts that were coming out of him every time he bottomed out, her mewls weren't helping.  His balls were starting to clench already and he was right on the edge.

    "Don't stop," she hissed, her musical accent sending a shiver down his spine.

   Damnation.  He felt his ejaculation coming and increased the pace he'd set.  He was hoping to get her off quickly. He reached down and started rubbing her pearl with his thumb urgently.  

    "Come for me," he ordered, his blue eye staring down at her intently.  His cock started pulsing, his testicles clenched, he was about to finish, "Now," he snarled, pushing his tongue past her teeth.

   Her legs tightened about his waist, and he could have howled in relief as her pussy started milking him.   _Thank the Light_ …

    He collapsed on her almost immediately, his big body shaking and sweating.  Barristan rolled off her and took a deep calming breath. He could feel the restless night he'd endured leaving his body.  He fell asleep not long after despite the sunlight lighting the room now. Amani smiled to herself and stayed in bed with him the rest of the day.

***********  

  Paracelsus could barely contain her shriek of fear as the Siren blew on her bloody conch, calling for more pelagic nightmares.  She'd been tossing vial after vial of deadly toxin ( _everything_ was poisoned), doing her damnedest to kill the horrifying monster as quickly as possible.

   This was her second venture into the Cove (the last one had been a total failure).  She'd managed to drag Barristan (the old Man-at-War that lived in the training ring), William (a Houndmaster), and Missandei (an Arbalest) with her.  She was confident in her team.  

   The Arbalest had become their healer about halfway through the Coves.  William’s hound had kept the monsters from surprising them and Barristan had kept the morale up.  She’d been surprised when Barristan had approached her about the Siren, had asked if she’d gathered a party to hunt the beast yet (she hadn’t, but that was quickly remedied).  She didn’t ask what had changed his mind, and frankly didn’t care.

   They’d bashed, pierced, sliced, melted and chewed their way to the Siren.  Past her guardians, her traps and endless mazes with almost no effort considering, although they’d run out of torches a while back, they’d pressed on.

   William whistled on his fingers, marking the Siren, signalling for his hound to tear into her rotting fish flesh.  Paracelsus had thrown _everything_ at her (except her satchel at this point).  Missandei had bandaged them without fail, except when she’d been lured to the Siren’s side, and when that had happened, Barristan had bellowed like a warrior of old.

   It looked like they were going to beat her back.  Paracelsus allowed herself the hope of victory, so when the tide turned, she wasn’t prepared for it.  In fact, she didn’t see it coming.

   “I’m sorry m-my friends!” Missandei screamed as she returned to their side.  

   “Heal me!” William growled, using his club to stun a nasty looking grouper.

   Barristan straightened, and the Plague Doctor noticed his blue eye narrowing. “This is it.” She clearly heard him whisper before he charged forward, raising his mace high.  She sent a vial of acid sailing over head to land against the scaled hide of a Guardian, trying to hopefully clear a path for him.

   Paracelsus shrieked as she dodged a vicious looking blow that probably would have made her bleed to death if it had landed and grabbed a couple of bottles off her belt (she’d lost sight of the Man-at-Arms).  The labels on the bottles read the same thing ‘In case of Emergency, smash’ (her idea). She didn’t hesitate threw them both. One landed against the Siren and the other landed on a grouper.

   Yellow fumes rose from the grouper and it shrieked as its scales melted where the liquid had landed. “This should get them!” she yelled at no one in particular.    

   The blast from the conch came again and Paracelsus dove backwards, landing on her back.  She was staring at the high ceilings, filled with rocky stalactite.

   “No!” A feminine voice, Missandei, “Aaaargh!”

   The Doctor raised her head (she was still on her back) and gasped as she was splashed with blood.  She rolled just as Missandei’s body was sent flying in her direction. She dodged the tentacled that buried itself in the Arbalest’s corpse, wrenching it back towards the Siren.

   She gritted her teeth and jumped to her feet just as she heard another scream.  A masculine voice this time. Her eyes widened from behind her goggles as she spotted Barristan smashing his mace down on the Siren’s head before collapsing onto the great beast himself.

   There was a great clamour from the fishfolk and Paracelsus gave a weak smile as she ran towards the Man-at-Arms.  She was going to hug him for felling the… she stopped thinking when she reached the pair.

   The Siren was dead, there was no mistaking it, but so was Barristan.  The old warrior had a huge slash across his belly that had turned his armour red.  There was a pool of blood under him (he’d fallen to his knees) and despite Paracelsus attempt at reviving him, it was too late.

  The Houndmaster placed a heavy gloved hand on her shoulder. “We need to leave…”

   The Doctor agreed.  He grabbed Barristan’s shield and she, in turn, grabbed the Siren’s Conch.  They ran out of the Cove as though the entirety of the fishfolk were after them, leaving Barristan and Missandei where they had fallen.

***********

   Amani was waiting at the edge of the Hamlet, staring at the entrance of the Coves with worry she had never felt before.  A smile lit up her face as she recognized the Plague Doctor, Paracelsus. They were coming back… _finally_.  She hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of his going after the Siren again, not after what had happened last time.

    She watched as the Houndmaster emerged next.  She knew Barristan would be last, he would clear the others before exiting himself.  Her right hand made a fist as no other left. Where was Barristan?

    Her dark eyes remained focused on the cave.  The Doctor was closer now, running as though her life depended on it.  Amani could see she was clutching a shell of some sort in her hand as she ran.  She eventually was close enough that the Shieldbreaker could hear her panting.

    “We killed her!” Paracelsus screamed gleefully, waving the conch high in the air.

    “Where is Barristan?” Amani didn’t care that the Siren was dead.

    The Doctor stopped about five feet away from Amani, her goggles reflecting the fading light as she tilted her head downward. “He didn’t make it.”

     Amani showed no reaction.  Her black eyes focused intently on Paracelsus, grateful for the veil that hid most of her face.   _No_...  She would not mourn in front of the others.  Her fisted right hand shook. “His mace and shield?”

   “I’ve his shield,” the Houndmaster said, coming up beside the Plague Doctor. “I’ll hang it with the others in the training ring.”

   “No,” Amani was firm, “Let me have it.”

   William frowned and then shrugged as he handed her Barristan’s shield.  It was heavier than her wooden one, but that didn’t matter. She’d be using it from now on.  She held it to her chest, using both arms and turned on her heels. She wasn’t going to cry in front of the others.

    She walked blindly towards the training ring, her feet taking her directly to his anvil.  She stood in front of it, hugging his shield to her chest before dropping to her knees and letting the tears come.  Like everything else, she mourned alone.

************

    In the darkness that had engulfed the Cove following the death of their queen, no one noticed the tall, floating specter with a caged head, wearing long, flowing yellow robes.  The odd, fast-slow nodding of his blue-flamed skeletal head was made more unnerving by the silence that accompanied him.

   There was a wet, slicing noise that echoed ominously, followed by a ghostly shriek as the Collector suddenly vanished, leaving Barristan's headless corpse to feed the fishes.  


End file.
